


Suite Submission

by AntiMaterielGirl



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 04:48:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7670689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiMaterielGirl/pseuds/AntiMaterielGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maleficent gets to know Mr. Burke more intimately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suite Submission

**Author's Note:**

> This encounter, if you'll recall, was mentioned in Dark Hearts.  
> I'd fallen in love with Maleficent, and wanted to give her yet more depth. Plus, I couldn't help wanting to write from the perspective of the devilishly classy Mr. Burke. Enjoy!

I could sense it in her from the beginning – a kindred spirit.

It’s in the spatters of dried blood on her delicate hands. It’s in the defiant smirk on her lovely windburnt face. It’s in the sickeningly sweet rot of her deliciously wicked soul.

My songbird. I can barely resist her. “I must admit. I find you... enchanting. Do this for me, and there's no telling how far my gratitude will reach.” She rigs the bomb, and joins me in Tenpenny Tower. It’s like the Gods brought us together to share this moment.

“When you have finished savoring the moment, you may have the honor of pressing the button. Oh, and mind your eyes. It'll be brighter than bright.”

With the press of a button, she kills fifty people. Or more.  Without hesitation. At my behest. “My God... what transcendent beauty... what purifying light....” In an instant, I feel stripped naked, bared, enraptured. I can barely take my eyes off the cloud in the distance. “Ahem... Allow me to collect myself, as I'm sure you're anxious to collect your payment.” She watches me, with hungry eyes. She knows what I am. What we are.

“I've been asked to extend to you an invitation to reside at Tenpenny Tower. Here's the key, and deed, to your new master suite. It's on the top floor, first door on your right from the elevator. Enjoy your new accommodations.” She accepts the key with a sly smile, and asks me to lunch tomorrow. My songbird is confident and direct – perhaps a bit curious of me. As curious of me as I am of her. “Splendid! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

* * *

 

She makes it to the café early. I expected as much. She’s curious; she can’t help but want to get a better look at me. When I enter, she’s staring at the door, legs crossed primly at the ankle, hands in her lap – a wonderful contrast to her worn clothes and dirty combat boots. I smile when I see her, and stride confidently over to her table and sit across from her. A waitress places two bottles of Nuka-Cola on the table, and hurries away. “What you did, it was a great thing. That place, those people... necessary sacrifices. Here's to a better future. Here's to Tenpenny Tower!” We clink our Nuka Cola bottles together, and take a sip. She rests her arms on the table as she thinks about what to say next. There is an awkward silence.

“You are curious.” I say.

She nods. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Oh, now – that’s quite untrue. You’ve known yourself for your whole life.” I observe.

She blushes, and her nervous eyes flit about the room. “Don’t be coy, Maleficent.  I know why I’m here.” I stroke her forearm with my index finger. She does not move – not even a flinch.

“And why do you think you’re here?” she asks, anxiously.

“You think you want to connect with someone. Someone like you.” I offer.

She nods.

“But that’s a lie. You know it’s a lie.” She frowns.

“You don’t want to connect, Maleficent.” I lean over the table, and whisper, “You want to take…and be taken.” She clenches her teeth, looks down at the table. “I thought so. I’ll see you at eight?” She nods as I finish my cola, set the bottle down on the table, and leave.

* * *

 

At about six-thirty, I send her over a package – a dress, shoes, and nylons. I’ll leave her undergarments and hairstyle to her discretion. It can’t do to be too forward.

Five minutes before eight, I straighten my tie in the mirror and step into the hallway. It pains me that I’m unable to give her flowers as a small token of my gratitude. Perhaps someday in the future, when the wasteland is cleansed of filth, flowers can grow. For now, however, compliments will have to suffice.

I approach her door and knock firmly. She opens it almost immediately – nervous. Good. “Good evening, my dear. You look ravishing tonight.” The dress and shoes have transformed her from a battle-hardened wasteland warrior to a graceful pre-war goddess. She evidently made use of the hairstyling services of her robot butler – her dark tresses are drawn up into an alluring updo.

The spell is broken when she attempts to walk in the shoes. “Heh. I’m sorry. I…haven’t had a lot of time to practice. I usually wear boots.”

“No matter. Come! Our evening awaits.” I wait patiently as she locks her door, then guide her gently with a light touch on her lower back to my suite. She continues forward, not accustomed to formal pleasantries. “Ah, ah!” I say, hurrying to the door and opening it for her. “It’s almost as if no one has held a door open for you before.”

She blushes. “Well, no, they haven’t. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, stop apologizing, my dear songbird. It is unbecoming of you.” I chide. She laughs, full and throaty, her confidence returning.

“Let’s have drinks on the balcony. Chat a bit. Get to…know one another. You must be a bundle of nerves.” I suggest as I close the door.

“I have a better idea,” she says, with a wicked smile. “You can fuck me up and down this suite.”

“Oh, you have a dirty mouth. There’s no need to be…vulgar.”

She reaches out and snatches my tie, yanks on it viciously. “Why?  What will you do? Punish me? Slap me?” she sneers, defiant.

I push her up against the door. “Yes. That and…much more.” She releases my tie, and I step back. I take off my hat, glasses, and jacket. I loosen my tie and unbutton my sleeves.

“You have a beautiful face.” With no warning, I slap her left cheek with my open palm, hard.

She falls back against the door. “Oh!” her eyelids flutter, her nostrils flare.

“You like that. There’s more where that came from.” I slap her other cheek, and she moans, her knees quake. I flip up her dress, and am surprised to find that she’s not wearing any underwear at all. I shouldn’t be surprised, now that I think about it. “Oh, you’re a naughty girl.” I slip my hand between her legs, and find her already wet, soaking.  I wipe my hand on my handkerchief.

I yank her arm, shove her at the desk. She hops up and sits on it, resting one heel on the smooth wooden surface, exposing herself to me crudely. “That is the last time you will speak without permission,” I order. I unbuckle my belt, slide it out of the loops, and toss it on a nearby chair. I can see her breathing rapidly, and her eyes flash to my waist as I unbutton my trousers.  As they fall to the floor, I wrap my hand around her throat, pinning her to the wall – tight enough to restrict her breathing, but loose enough for comfort.

I nudge her opening. “From this moment forward, you’ll address me as ‘Sir.’”

“Yes…Sir,” she croaks, through compressed vocal cords. I thrust into her enthusiastically, her legs wrapping around me. I can hear her moaning ardently, and it excites me – you don’t find many women, even in the wasteland, that appreciate this treatment. I resolve to enjoy it while it lasts.

She comes unexpectedly, explosively, squeezing me viciously, and I follow soon after. As I slide out of her trembling, sweaty body, I nod my head to the side. “The restroom is over there, my sweet. Get yourself cleaned up. We’re having drinks on the balcony.”

* * *

 

We sit on the patio furniture, a matching set of chairs and a small table, each drinking a glass of my finest scotch. “Now that…introductions are out of the way, we can get down to business.” She smiles. “I know that your real name is not Maleficent. That does not matter. You don’t have to tell me your real name if you don’t want to. At any rate…I will not tell you mine.”

“Why?” she asks.

“It’s better that way. To stay…unattached.” She smiles at me and nods. _Yes, girl. You understand already. No explanation needed._

“In the interest of…disclosure, what do you _like_?” I ask. “Bites? Slaps? Pinching?”

She turns bright red, and looks away from me. “Don’t be shy.” I say. “People like us…we have to be practical about this sort of thing.”

“People like…us?” she asks, hesitantly.

“Yes. We love pain and power. To take and be taken. To use…and to be used.” She starts, surprised.

“It’s as if you can read my mind,” she says, absently. After taking another sip of her drink, she answers my question. “I like...slaps. Everywhere, but especially…cheeks. Scratching, biting, pinching – all of the above.”

“Ah. Excellent.” I smile. “Are you open to…anything else?”

She smiles back at me, raises her glass to her lips. “Absolutely.”

“Anything you are…uncomfortable with?” I ask.

She speaks confidently. “Open hands only. No kissing. Nothing goes in through the out door. Oh…and no gags or restraints.” She pauses. “I don’t trust anyone well enough for that.”

 _So…she has thought about this._ I smile. “Understood.”

“So,” she asks, emboldened by my frankness, “What do you…like?”

“I like to be… _dominant_.”

Her eyebrows rise. “I see.”

“I like to give orders, see my partner _obey_. I like some of the things that you like, too.”

She squirms and frowns. “This feels more like a business transaction than sex.”

“Oh, but Maleficent.” I click my tongue. “Precautions must be taken. One can’t be _too_ hasty.”

* * *

 

She’s standing in front of me, nude. Her dress was abandoned long ago, in some forgotten corner of the suite. “What did I tell you about speaking out of turn, my dear?”

“You told me not to speak without your permission, Sir.” Her head hangs low; she’s staring at the floor in front of my feet.

“Yet you did.”

She cringes. “Yes, Sir.”

“On your knees.” She complies obediently. “Now, you’ll suck my cock until you learn your lesson.” She scoots forward almost too eagerly, her soft lips wrapping around me, gliding up and down.  I watch the top of her head bob, forward and back; she takes my full length into her throat, without gagging. Suddenly, I realize that she does not view this as a punishment – she is actually enjoying herself. It is a rare but particularly enjoyable coincidence – it seems she is quite special, in more ways than one.

“Stop.” She freezes mid-stroke, and I get a surge of pleasure from her immediate compliance. I back away. “You are enjoying this.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiles, almost demurely.

“You are…very good at what you do.” She raises her chin with pride at the praise. “You must have had…practice.”

She smirks, impishly. “Yes, sir. A lot of practice.”

“With whom?” I ask, knowing I’ll regret the answer.

“Boys in the vault. And –”she pauses, obviously relishing the tension.

“WHO?” I rarely raise my voice, but I’m quickly losing patience with her.

“Jericho, sir.”

My eyes narrow. “That vile old raider?”

“Yes, sir. I traveled with him for a month.” It was as if her lips savored every cruel syllable. “I sucked his cock every night…at least once.” She sneers at the expression of disgust on my face as I picture her on her knees in front of that revolting degenerate.

I find myself strangely aroused. I am not surprised by her admission – those of our…predilections are not often pure. I do not blame her for seeking gratification, even if the method is…repugnant. I have made such choices myself, on occasion. “On the bed, on your hands and knees,” I command, and she complies, thrusting her luscious buttocks into the air readily.

I can’t help but behold her gorgeous body. She truly is stunning. Tall for a wastelander, although that could probably be chalked up to adequate nutrition in the vault she crawled out of. There are scars all over her – stimpak scars from injuries, I know. I have them, too, practically everyone does. She has an impressive assortment, however, especially for being relatively new to the wasteland. But the way they intertwine…like snowflakes. Pain and beauty, written on her skin.

It is ambrosia for the eyes.

She has strong legs, muscular from wandering the wastes. Soft, round buttocks, her waist nipped in just the right place. Her powerful shoulders are squared; her graceful arms support her robust frame. A thought of her generous breasts arises unbidden in my mind, and I can feel my groin ache painfully.

_Oh, to mar this beauty…_

I retrieve my belt from the chair, tucking the buckle safely in the palm of my hand. I snap it, and she flinches. “You will receive ten lashes.” I smile. “Are you ready for your punishment?”

She shivers. “Y-yes.”

“YES, WHAT?” the belt connects with her bottom with a satisfying snap. She shrieks, a sound that sends a thrill up my spine.

“Yes, Sir!” I rub the emerging welt tenderly, then hit her again. “Ah!” She grasps the sheets. I whip her over and over again, careful to just discipline and not cause any permanent damage. When I stop, there are ten lovely welts crisscrossing her exquisite ass; the effort leaves my forehead damp.

“You dirty slut.” I reach out with both hands, caress her smooth back. She sighs, groaning as my hands trace the web of scars on her ribs, waist, buttocks. I grasp her hips and thrust into her once, savagely, and she shouts in surprise.  “You sicken me.” I reach up her back, almost to her neck, and rake my nails downward maliciously. Her back stiffens, and she cries out, her insides squeezing me deliciously. Pink welts begin to appear on her skin, and I thrust into her warm wetness, determined to punish her, to mark her. Grasping a handful of her thick raven hair, I pull her head back. “You filthy whore!”

She moans loudly as pound her; I can feel her rebellious spirit fighting against me – but finally she submits to my brutal assault, grasping the bedsheets and pushing into me. “Tell me what you are!” I command.

“I’m a filthy whore!” she cries.

“Louder!” I demand.

“I’M A FILTHY WHORE!”

“You’re a filthy whore, WHAT?” I roar.

“Sir! Oh, SIR!” Screaming, she shudders and stiffens, tightening around me violently. I release myself inside her with a deafening shout.

I pull out of her, and shove her to the side. My sweet, defiant songbird. “Get dressed and wait at the door, love. I’m done with you.” I scoop up my clothes and head to the bathroom, where I clean myself and dress methodically. When I return, she’s standing by the door, gently swaying, a drunken smile on her face, her shoes grasped in her hand. I can see the red marks where my hand squeezed her tender neck, her cheeks pink from being struck by my palm, the blossoming finger-shaped bruises on her arms, and as she turns, I can see the peek of scratch marks down her back. I think of the welts my belt left on her legs and bottom, my cum that must be wetting her thighs right now, and I smirk as I open the door and guide her through it with a gentle hand to her lower back.

When we leave, there’s only one guard – and he turns away, giving us a wide berth. I made sure long ago to make it plain to him and the other guards that I and my “guests” require privacy, or else their jobs - the only reason they reside here - would be in jeopardy. She unlocks her door and slips inside. Before she closes it, I croon, “Thanks again for your part in paving the way towards progress.” She smiles faintly as the crack closes and the latch clicks behind her.

It’s people like us – the ones who don’t mind getting their hands a little dirty – that build great new societies from the rubble of the old. If we were capable of love, together we could transform this vile, wretched place into a veritable Eden on Earth.

But sadly, we are not.


End file.
